Sugar Sunsets and Burning Bread
by catherine ampere
Summary: Right now, they are the only thing that matters, and right now, everything is perfect. Post-Mockingjay one-shot.


**My deepest apologies to my NCIS readers who got an alert for this story. I will get back to OHJD eventually, I promise.**

**This is my foray into The Hunger Games fandom. It's a post-Mockingjay piece, pre-Everlark bebes. It's written from a third-person POV, so if just in case you get confused and can't figure out who "she" is, it's a safe bet that it's Katniss.**

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No nightmares.

That's the first thing she registers when she wakes. That, and the stifling heat from her quilt. She throws it off immediately, curious, since she usually wakes up relishing the comforting breeze her window offers.

As she stirs, she remembers that it's not just any other day.

If it were, he would be snoring slightly beside her, blissfully unaware that he'd hogged the quilt on their bed yet again. She'd curl into him and go back to sleep, waking only when he began to trail her neck with gentle kisses, brushing strands of hair away from her face. She would swat him away with a cranky response, but they both knew her protests were futile. She'd greet him only a moment later, with a warm smile on her face.

Today, she wakes up alone. She finds the sun oppressive and the birds irritating. She can't tell if she's always felt this way or if it's just because she knows he's sleeping downstairs.

It was his idea, she remembers grumpily. An archaic tradition, in her opinion, but Peeta loves them so, and she finds herself unable to refuse him most things these days. So she gives in, allows him to sleep on the couch and leave her alone with her thoughts. She thinks he might have gotten the better end of that deal.

Her mother enters her bedroom moments later, carrying a breakfast tray. She's older now—grief has aged her, and the lives of those she lost are forever etched into the wrinkles on her face—but time has been merciful and the essence of her beauty still remains. After breakfast, she's ushered into the bathroom for a long, hot bath. Usually, she doesn't allow herself this luxury; years of bathing in tepid, and often freezing, water has her accustomed to a simpler way of living. She relents, however, when she sees the effort her mother has gone to preparing it for her.

The smell of bread fills the house and she smiles.

Her mother does her hair just the way he likes, lets it dry braided so gentle waves emerge when she unravels it with her nimble fingers. She fastens a few strands with a delicate gold clip, something she purchased back in District 4.

"Something new," she murmurs as she tucks it behind her daughter's ear.

It surprises her that the dress her mother made fits as well as it does; she's not sure why, since the older Everdeen always had a knack for sewing. Maybe it's more that it's a garment of this nature and the fact that she hasn't wanted to touch one of these with a ten foot pole for a very long time. But she knows her better than she thinks, so the dress is as simple as possible. Just a soft, ivory fabric that delicately clings to her body—no ruffles, no elaborate beading. She closes her eyes as her mother blends a deep green shadow into her lash line only, smudging away the excess. The result enhances her gray eyes and renders mascara useless, something she's thankful for. She didn't want to be made up, and the soft touch is just enough to bring out her natural beauty.

Her mother smiles and touches her cheek.

"You look beautiful."

"Thanks," she answers with an unsteady voice.

They embrace, channeling all of their emotions into a hug, hoping that the gesture will speak the words neither can.

_I forgive you. I love you. It's okay._

He's already at city hall—it's no longer a hall of justice, lost is the connotation of absolute power—by the time she gets there. He looks handsome in his suit, a simple navy one that brings out his eyes. She's surprised to see Haymitch beside him, clean-shaven and in a suit himself, though she notices a few nicks under his chin.

"Surprised to see you here," she chokes out, but her voice is thick and she's overwhelmed by his presence. She can tell he's sober.

He clears his throat.

"Wouldn't believe it if I didn't see with my own eyes," he retorts.

He hasn't said a word yet, hasn't done anything but stare at her with the utmost reverence. The same gaze that she once shied under now sends her skin tingling with anticipation. She cocks her head and raises an eyebrow. He gives his an almost imperceptible shake, just enough to let her know that he's got it under control, and that calms her nerves somewhat.

He always had that effect on her.

There is no fanfare at city hall, just a simple signing of documents, and she's glad that her mother and Haymitch are there as witnesses. He's a part of her family and it wouldn't have felt right without him.

They share a tender kiss once the legal portion is over, fingers threading gently through hair and bodies pressed together. He pulls back from her and smiles, and she can't resist kissing him once more.

When they return to the house, a small party has gathered outside. She takes stock of their guests. There's a face missing, and though a part of her wishes he were here, she knows it's for the best. He's moved on now, with his own wife and a month-old son, and she finds that it no longer stings to picture him with a family. She has let him go, and he her, and she knows that he's happy for her despite his absence. He contacted her a year after she moved back to District 12, and they did their best to repair the time lost between them. She no longer blames him for her sister's death, knows that it was slightly unfair of her to begin with. But they both agreed that it was time to move on, that they were different people now, with different lives to lead.

She knows she will hear from him again at some point, and that's good enough for her.

Effie and Greasy Sae are bickering, no doubt over dinner preparations. When she first heard about the wedding, Effie assumed her natural role as coordinator and graciously offered to host the festivities. It took hours to explain that they didn't want a big ceremony and that she was merely invited as guest. But manners always mattered to Effie, and they knew it meant a lot to her. In the end, they settled on letting her coordinate the meal with Greasy Sae. Neither women had been happy about the arrangement.

They are not at all surprised to be enveloped in a gigantic hug from Effie the minute she spots them, who chatters on about her love of happy endings and how she wished they'd let her take care of the whole thing, because how could she work with such a small space? She's the most elaborately dressed of them all, in a deep fuschia gown that stops at her ankles and has feathers gathered at the shoulders. Her lips are painted, of course, and her eyelashes match her dress.

Johanna's there, talking to Haymitch. It's about as close to exchanging pleasantries as either one of them will get. Her hair remains short and spiky, her body lithe in her gray dress, but she's put a bit of weight on. She looks healthy—on the outside, anyway.

Johanna meets her eye and smirks. That will be their greeting, for now, but it works for them. Peeta's always been better at these sorts of things, and as he walks toward their fellow tribute, he proves her right. He's much more jovial, embracing Johanna in a hug that leaves her startled and uncomfortable. Haymitch laughs in spite of himself.

Her mother is playing with a small boy, and the look of pain in her eyes is unmistakable. It's so obvious that she's remembering Prim that she can't bear looking at them anymore, no more than she can overlook the striking resemblance the little boy bears to his father.

Annie watches them nervously from a distance, as if her little son will disappear if she looks away. She's toying with the hem of her green frock, the frothy material swooshing around her knees. It's simple and lovely, just like Annie. She smiles warmly, arms outstretched.

"Katniss," she beams. "You look beautiful."

They hug, and she can smell the sea in Annie's hair. It's part of her, and the fragrance is comforting; it's been so long since she's smelled it.

The little boy runs toward his mother, gripping her legs. Annie bends down and deftly scoops him in her arms.

"Say hello, Colin."

He waves with a pudgy hand and she can't help but smile back at her youngest guest.

"Hello."

He grows tired of his mother and wishes to be let down. She watches him play in the grass, pulling tufts up with his tiny fists.

It's not hard to guess why Annie gave her son a different name; he's the mirror image of Finnick, right down to the glint in his mesmerizing eyes. But Annie seems to have it together now, seems to be strong for her son. What happens behind closed doors is another thing entirely, but she's not one to judge.

The party joins in song as the couple enter their threshold. There's clapping and laughing, and it feels like a real party, the first in who knows when. She can't remember the last time she's celebrated like this, and she's sure Peeta can't, either.

Effie and Greasy Sae head back into the kitchen, and it's not long before they're bickering again. Everyone else files into the backyard, but she and Peeta linger behind, relishing in their moment alone.

A pungent, floral scent wafts through the living room; it's filled with ostentatious floral arrangements that line the wall closest to them. Exquisite flowers of all shapes and sizes woven together, colors mingling like tiny fireworks in vases. They both knew who sent them: their faithful stylists and friends, who couldn't be there to celebrate.

She reaches over to examine an arrangement, running her hand over the petals, each one painted with intricate gold detail, and noticing that each arrangement is a work of art. She closes her eyes tightly as memories of Cinna assault her. She's reminded of him on days like this, when his beautiful work would outshine all the rest. She's astounded by the staggering grief she still bears three years later.

He's there, holding her hand as she rides it out. He kisses her temple and rubs her shoulder.

"Come on," he urges gently. "Let's go see what Colin's left of the grass back there."

A small laugh escapes from her lips and she lets him lead her, allows him to pull her out of her dark place once more.

The rest of the party convenes out back. It's small, their backyard, but she thinks it's just perfect for them. She doesn't see the point in a bigger one. They take turns playing with Colin; it's safe to say that he has stolen the show, but no one seems to mind. She can't help but notice Peeta's longing whenever it's his turn to lift the boy in the air, or Colin's laughter whenever he does something particularly funny. She quickly brushes her thoughts aside.

They chat with everyone in the backyard until Effie announces cheerfully that dinner's ready. She's transformed the kitchen into a giant feast, doing her best to make Greasy Sae's cooking as gourmet-looking as possible.

They all laugh. Effie blinks at them in confusion. So much for keeping it simple.

But first it's time for the toasting, and the room is alit with excitement. He lets her make the fire, and despite the fact that her insides are churning nervously and her fingers won't stop trembling, it takes her just a few seconds before she's got a small one blazing. As she steps back from the fire, she swallows thickly and blinks.

_This is it_, she realizes.

It doesn't matter that they're technically already married. This was, and always will be tradition for her, for their home And it's one tradition she was eager to honor, despite her nerves.

"You ready?" he whispers.

She nods, and he picks up a loaf, the one he baked in their home just this morning. They each grab an end, and his other hand finds hers. He locks their fingers together. Her gaze meets his, and she's overwhelmed by the love she finds there. She knows she'll never get used to it, and she'll never deserve it, but she gladly accepts that it's her's for the taking, because frankly, she couldn't live without it, and him. They smile at each other so wide their cheeks hurt, and at the same time, they place the bread into the fire.

She can't help but feel the time passing too slowly for her liking. When it's cool enough to stand—because there's no way she can wait any longer at this point—they each rip a piece off and pop it into their mouths. Everyone cheers and claps; Haymitch releases a dog whistle and it seems that even Effie has lost her composure.

Her new husband—officially—pulls her in tight and kisses her with unbridled passion. It's the first time all day where they both forget about their family and friends surrounding them. Right now, they are the only thing that matters, and right now, everything is perfect.

The symbolism isn't lost on either one of them. The boy with the bread, the girl on fire, officially joined as one. From this moment on, neither can be parted from the other, nor would they want to. They are finally a united front, and it feels wonderful.

She feels him pulling her closer, using his hand pressed at her lower back to guide her to him. She responds in kind, tilting his head towards her until they separate for air. Everyone cheers again, and her cheeks redden when she sees her mother.

_Oh well_, she supposes. _It's not like she can say anything at this point._

Effie ushers everyone to the table, worried that the dinner will be cold. She grumbles something about not needing to make Sae's cooking worse than it already was, but she trails off when Haymitch barks something back at her.

Peeta grins, and so does she. They've missed those little arguments.

The food is actually pretty delicious, and she finds herself glad of Effie's meticulous planning and reluctance to leave all the cooking in Greasy Sae's hands. She's brought all the desert over herself, delicious pastries with warm, gooey centers, and sweet cakes sprinkled with confectionary sugar.

But the centerpiece is the small, but beautifully decorated cake she wheels out moments later. It's small, three-tiered, but enough for leftovers, and certainly enough that every guest will go home with an extra slice. The detail is breathtaking: rich, deep hues of blue, soft orange merging ever-so-beautifully. It's clear what he's painted on their cake: an extraordinary sunset, and the sight renders her speechless. Everyone else murmurs wondrously.

"I wanted to keep it a surprise," he admits. "I just finished it this morning."

Realization dawns on her.

"So that's why you wanted to sleep on the couch."

He smirks.

"Well, yeah, but that tradition thing was also pretty important."

She kisses him again.

The celebration continues as the cake's devoured, and the guests swap stories back and forth, each sharing their own tales of the newlywed couple. Her cheeks redden with every new one she hears.

Haymitch gives her a quick squeeze when no one's looking, the rough calluses tickling her shoulder.

"Congratulations, Sweetheart," he whispers roughly.

He waits to speak until he knows no one else is listening. His gaze is serious, but incredibly kind and heartfelt.

"I was wrong, you know. You do deserve him."

She bites her lip. It's all she can do to keep the tears from spilling out of her eyes. She shakes her head, unable to trust her own voice.

She's not sure she believes him, but she hopes he's right.

The guests begin to die down late in the evening. Annie's the first to go, with a sleeping Colin on her hip. They say their goodbyes, and she feels a stab of something as Peeta strokes the young boy's hair. Greasy Sae leaves next, followed by Effie, who's sobbing into a handkerchief. She makes the newlyweds promise to let her plan their next big event. They agree, because she really did do a great job today.

Haymitch and Johanna leave next, both a little unsteady on their feet. He's letting her stay the night, barking that he's already got a guest in his spare room, and that she'd better be happy with the couch. She's arguing something back at him, and their grumbles fade into the night.

Her mother is the last to leave, giving them each a tearful goodbye and joking that she hopes Haymitch remembered to leave the door unlocked; she is the other guest, the lucky one who gets the spare bedroom. And then she leaves and it's just them, for the first time since last night.

"Well, that was a lot of excitement for one day," he jokes, and she can hear the exhaustion in his voice. It's tiny, and it's superseded by happiness, but it's there. And she can't blame him—they really haven't had company like that before, not for a very long time.

He wraps his arm around her waist and tilts his forehead to rest on hers.

"So how does it feel?"

She hums in pleasure, reveling in his smell and proximity.

"Real."

And he kisses her, with all the love he can muster. He pours himself into his kiss and hopes it translates everything he can't say. She does the same, because she's never been one with words.

She lets him lead her up the stairs and into the darkness, and she can't help but notice that it doesn't just feel real. _It feels perfect._

Somehow, she knows there will be no nightmares tonight either.

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**Can't wait to hear what you think!**


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